Centesimus
by raspberry-rave
Summary: Despite the change in title, this story will still finish at Drabble #100. Centesimus is Latin for 100th.
1. New

**Author's Note:** This was written for the 100 Days, 100 Drabbles Challenge for which the guidelines etc are as follows:

**Objective:** To write one hundred drabbles in one hundred days or less.

**Guidelines:**

1. The first drabble must be posted after June 20th and the last by September 27th, one hundred days later. The last drabble must be posted within one hundred days. If you aren't able to post on the last day of the challenge, then you may post them - and complete the challenge - earlier.

2. Drabbles must not be more than 400 words long. If you go over, edit.

3. Responses should not be posted in this thread. Instead, I suggest creating a new story and posting them there.

4. Drabbles must be posted in the order prompted, with the prompt as the title of the chapter.

**Word Count:** 385.

* * *

Something Old, Something New 

(or, How Narcissa Malfoy Became a Shop-a-Holic)

_sic transit gloria_

Narcissa glanced at her new husband from under her lashes, secretly revelling in every line and angle of his face. Though he was almost a stranger to her (the wedding having been arranged between their parents), she felt only a deepening familiarity as he held her in his arms, and rejoiced at the novelty he presented in her oft-boring life. His hand warmed her skin through the silk gloves as he led them in a stately waltz and Narcissa decided that Lucius Malfoy was the most handsome man on earth. Later that night when he reverently removed the new emerald earrings that were a gift from her father and they were introduced to each other's bodies, Narcissa decided she was the luckiest woman on earth.

She lost the emerald earrings two years ago, and can't remember the last time she danced with him. They faded long ago, anyway. Now she spends her days having tea and running a household, her nights in the solitude of a private boudoir. Her husband is charming and attentive to his business associates and their wives. He is still handsome, but she does not feel quite so lucky anymore.

Narcissa cooed at her newborn son as she laid him carefully on her lap. There were guests, a party in honour of the newest Malfoy, and Narcissa was enjoying showing off her precious bundle. The faintest wisps of blonde hair dusted his crown, and watery eyes regarded her with an indifferent stare. She couldn't tell the colour yet, but she hoped they would be grey. Like his father's. And handsome, too. Then maybe she would feel lucky again. Lucius approached her from behind and placed a necklace gently around her neck – emerald. Around her, the noises of the celebration faded away into his whisper against her ear: "I am proud of you, and my heir."

She covers her ears to block out the sound of the screaming infant, and when that fails, calls in fluent French for his nurse to fetch him while she resumes her daily nap. The emerald's faded again, and she regards it with indifferent eyes when she looks at it all. The novelty's worn off. She might recapture that freshness, that innocence, if he stops screaming. If he dances with her.

If she buys a new emerald.


	2. Broken

**Word Count:** 397

**Prompt:** Broken

* * *

Phobia

-x-

"You broke it!" The accusation rang out as Ginny glared at her brother. Her bottom lip thrust out into the adorable pout of a slighted five year old and Ron looked back at her defiantly.

"Did not!"

"You did, too!" she said loudly, clutching the two halves of her favourite toy. Tears threatened to fall and when Ginny sniffled, Ron grew wary.

"Don't cry, Gin-Gin. I can fix it, promise."

"No, you can't!" Ginny wailed, ending on a high note. The sound brought the twins into the room and Fred and George immediately rallied 'round their baby sister.

"Ginny, what's wrong?" George asked.

"We thought we heard your dulcet tones," Fred commented.

Ginny was sobbing now. She pointed at Ron and hiccoughed before answering.

"He broke my toy!" She crossed her arms and looked up at her brothers with a glance that was pleading and watery and, truth be told, quite pitiful.

"It's alright, Gin. C'mon, we'll get it fixed in no time," George said, ushering her out of the room.

"And we'll teach Ron a lesson about breaking toys," Fred added in a whisper to her as they left.

The toy was brought to Mum, who shook her head and waved her wand, murmuring that it was a good thing they could use magic, or else this family would never have survived. She gathered the sniffling Ginny onto her apron-covered lap and set about drying her tears, keeping a close eye on the self-peeling potatoes.

The toy had in fact been passed down from Charlie – a miniature dragon that flew and roared and breathed fire when you tickled its tummy just right. But these days it did little more than hover a few scant centimetres above the ground; the roar was more like a squeak and it rather sneezed smoke than breathed fire. This wasn't the first time it had been broken and it likely wouldn't be the last.

Fred and George put their plan into action right after Ginny got a cookie. They nicked Mum's wand and stole into Ron's room, where Fred Charmed Ron's teddy bear to turn into a spider. Even at eight years, Fred was already a mischievous little imp, and the business of his life was inventing new tricks. Its solace was tormenting Ron.

Hours later, the charm kicked into action and Fred, George and Ginny laughed when Ron shrieked "MUM!"


	3. Hope

**Prompt:** 3; Broken

**Word Count**: 397

* * *

Wolfsbane

-x-

_Memory; all alone in the moonlight_

-x-

The moon twinkled merrily in its company of stars, and Remus Lupin fancied it a Cheshire Cat, smiling endlessly at his misfortune. Or sharing in some private joke, of which it was the executor and he, the punch line.

"Remus."

He turned at the soft murmur. Nymphadora stood before him, elegantly dressed in a lavender gown that complimented what everyone assumed was her natural eye colour. Her eyes had flickered down when he turned, but they returned to his face now despite the light blush that stole across her cheeks.

"You look beautiful this evening, Nymphadora," he observed.

The blush deepened and she glanced away. "Thank you. You clean up quite nicely, too." He accepted her compliment with a nod.

"Why are you out here?" they asked at the same time, eliciting a brief smile from Remus and a grin from Tonks.

"The fuss of ceremony is too much for this old man," Remus answered.

"You're not old, Remus," Tonks contradicted, almost to herself. "And you can't hide from the world forever."

"Not forever, just long enough," he told her. "Why are _you_ out here?"

"Because you are," she replied softly, but to Remus's heightened ears the words were as clear as a moonlit night.

"Nymphadora," he began, and was rewarded by the flash of fire in her eyes, "I am an old man."

Her dress rustled as she walked towards him; she really was quite beautiful. Raising a hand to his cheek, but not quite touching it, she repeated her earlier words, "You are _not_ old."

Remus grasped her hand within his own but didn't pull it away. "I _am_ old, too old and damaged for one such as you."

"Shouldn't that be my decision?" Tonks asked, almost demanded. In frustration, she pressed her lips to his for a moment. A momentous moment.

Remus sighed heavily and tightened his hold on her hand, before interlocking their fingers. Old eyes were alight with young feeling as he rested his forehead on hers, caught up for a moment in watching emotions play across her face.

When he spoke, it was with the heaviness of resignation. "When you leave, and everyone always leaves, I will be left once more with an empty heart and no hope."

Tonks placed her free hand gently on his cheek, in an intimate caress. "My experience, Remus, is that there is, surprisingly, always hope."

* * *

A/N: It's a good day when I can quote Dr. Who in fanfiction :D The last two lines were taken from Vincent and the Doctor, which is a superbly written episode that I recommend to everyone.


	4. Quills

**Prompt:** 4; Quills

**Word Count:** 365

**A/N:** This is completely superfluous and pretty much just is, without reason or point. Think Tennessee Williams.

* * *

A Day in the Life

-x-

Luna's office was a certifiable mess. As Ginny picked her way through menacing stacks of paper that came up to her waist, she ducked to avoid several zooming memos and looked in vain for an empty flat surface she could at least sit on.

"Ginny!" Luna chirped brightly from several stacks over; Ginny couldn't see her yet. She stepped to her left and felt her foot go through something, looking down in time to rescue her Jimmy Choos from a dying office plant that had clearly gotten lost while trying to battle its way out of this maze. On spying the top of her friend's blonde hair, she hustled towards Luna like a desert traveller hustles towards an oasis, desperate for something sane. Of course, Luna was anything but.

"What took you so long?" Luna asked mildly when Ginny reached her side. "I had you written down for 12 o'clock."

Ginny brushed a cobweb off her shoulder before replying. "I did get here at twelve, and spent the last fifteen minutes trying to find your desk."

Luna laughed. "My office isn't that big. Now have you seen my quill?"

She looked around and, moving an issue of the Quibbler that was two months old, discovered a battered quill beneath it.

"There's one behind you ear," Ginny pointed out. "And one in your hair, as well."

Luna's large eyes lit up as she scribbled down a thought. Ginny looked around the rest of the office and found that several quills poked out of every nook and cranny and stack of paper in the room.

"Now then," Luna said, "Are you ready to go?"

"Quite," Ginny replied but curiosity got the better of her. "Luna, what on earth do you have so many quills for?"

"Oh, those?" Luna waved an airy hand. "I always find them when I'm not looking for them."

"Do they? That's terribly inconvenient."

Luna shrugged mildly. "They usually turn up. Would you like one? I've got plenty to spare."

"Not now. We're late for lunch, and I've got loads to tell you."

"How's Draco?"

"Still an arrogant git, but I'm learning to live with it. Now, hush. Details can wait for the restaurant."

_-fin-_


	5. Doorway

**Prompt:** 5; Doorway

**Word Count:** ~370 (I feel like a butcher)

**A/N:** I really didn't want to edit this, but a challenge is a challenge u_u

Lyrics are from _Pioneer to the Falls_, by Interpol.

* * *

Beyond the Veil

-x-

_Show me the dirt pile  
And I will pray that the soul can take  
Three stowaways  
Vanish with no guile  
And I will not pay  
But the soul can wait  
The soul can wait_

-x-

_August, 1997_

Deep within the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, on the floor that houses the Department of Mysteries, you may find the Death Chamber. If by chance the door you choose leads into an ancient, rectangular room with a stone pit in its centre, twenty feet deep, and stone benches all round the side, then you have entered the right place.

In the centre of this pit is a raised dais. Atop this dais is a stone doorway, and on this doorway is a veil. In this room with no windows and a locked door, the veil flutters continuously, as if agitated by a light wind. It is tattered and dark, hanging in the archway like a simple curtain, menacing in its restlessness.

Some have claimed to hear voices through this doorway, but no one has claimed to _see_. And those who have passed through it are in no position to remark on what lies beyond. Unspeakables have studied this phenomenon for centuries, coming no closer to unravelling its secrets now than they were then, and for the most part the archway has remained untouched.

Until tonight.

Tonight, the Department of Mysteries has found its first volunteer to travel beyond the veil. Armed with only a wand, this nameless, faceless man approaches the doorway with halting steps. Standing only a hair's breadth away from the unknown, he feels the immaterial veil slide across his skin, at once chilling and inviting. He has lost his family to the ravages of war. For a moment, the trepidation on his face is erased by curiosity, and in the next moment he has stepped through, all traces of hesitation vanished.

-x-

_December, 1998_

No word has been received from the humble voyager who departed from us last August.

_February, 1999_

Attempts to Summon items thrown through the doorway prove futile.

_April, 1999_

Trials to communicate with the voices from beyond the veil are without success.

_Conclusion_

The Death Chamber remains a most potent stronghold of magic, which we have been unable to penetrate. We therefore conclude that this force presents a threat to the general public, Wizard and Muggle alike, and recommend sealing it in the Department of Mysteries indefinitely.

_A.B._

_04.05.99_

_~fin~  
_


	6. Breathless

**Prompt:** 6; Breathless

**Word Count:** 401 ._.

**A/N:** This is a stretch, a _far_ stretch. A stretch du jour, one could say. It remains untitled because I couldn't think of one in time.

Lyrics are from _Love Song_, by Sara Bareilles.

* * *

-x-

_Head underwater_

_And they tell me_

_To breathe easy for a while_

-x-

It is an annual tradition of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to transport the first year students from the train to castle by way of boats over the lake. The task of overseeing this generally falls to the Keeper of Keys (and newly instated Care of Magical Creatures Professor), Rubeus Hagrid, who will tell you that this venture has not been without its share of accidents.

Two years after he received the job, a skinny lad with glasses too big for him had fallen overboard while losing an impromptu shoving match. Panicking, Hagrid dived in and rescued the floundering first year. He dropped the boy unceremoniously in the boat and clambered in after him. After checking to make sure he was breathing, he took off the great moleskin coat and draped it over the boy's shaking shoulders.

A few years after that, Hagrid turned to check on the students just in time to see a girl who was trying to stand fall over the edge of the small boat. Without thinking, he dove in and was surprised when the girl was thrust towards him by an unseen force. She, too, was breathing and cold, though when Hagrid offered the moleskin coat she haughtily declined.

The next time, Hagrid didn't even hear the splash. When he performed a head count he discovered that someone was missing and in the time it took to roll his eyes heavenward, the boy was pushed steadily towards the aft stern and Hagrid swore he spied a giant tentacle. The boy turned out to have jumped overboard on purpose "to have a swim".

Thus it was that by the time Dennis Creevey took an unfortunate spill over the side of the small boat in which he was travelling Hagrid didn't even bat an eye. The giant squid pushed him close enough to the boat for Hagrid to grab him and haul him aboard, but the gamekeeper paused when he noticed that Dennis wasn't breathing. Hesitating, Hagrid wondered if he should give the boy two good thumps on the back, but Dennis was rather small for his age and Hagrid was afraid of causing permanent damage.

Luckily, one of the occupants claimed to know 'CRP' and Hagrid gratefully allowed her to see to the breathless boy. By the time the boat docked at the edge of the lake, Dennis considered the episode a rather fortunate misadventure.


	7. Pain

**Prompt:** 7; Pain

**Word Count:** 400 exactly u_u

A/N: I had to chop a good deal off this one, so if it ends kind of abruptly, I apologize in advance. Must find something to do with that broom closet scene . . .

-x-

Even though there was a red handprint across her cheek, a scratch on her temple and her hair was snarled from when Parkinson grabbed at it, pain was the furthest thing from what Ginny was feeling. In fact, as both girls faced two irate Heads of Houses (well, irate in McGonagall's case; more like disdainful in Snape's), Ginny only felt a supreme sense of satisfaction when she surveyed Parkinson's steadily bruising eye and split lip. Suffice it to say that Parkinson looked _a lot_ worse than she did.

"Ms. Weasley and Ms. Parkinson, what on earth prompted you to resort to Muggle duelling in the corridors?" McGonagall demanded. She was one step away from planting her hands on her hips, Ginny was sure.

"She insulted my family!" Ginny began hotly.

"I only said no Weasley would ever be good enough to date a Pureblood," Parkinson returned, inspecting her nails. Unlike her face, they were still in pristine condition despite having raked over Ginny's temple a few minutes ago.

"She called me a nasty, freckled thing and said Draco –"

"Draco would never waste his time on someone so obviously beneath him, and she told me some things I can't possibly repeat –"

"She's a rotten liar! She said he was getting what he wanted elsewhere and that -"

"Draco really does get around," Pansy ended with a nonchalant shrug.

"And she called my mum fat!" Ginny ended triumphantly.

Ginny and Pansy had been talking on top of each other, around each other and through each other's tales, but Professors Snape and McGonagall seemed to get the general gist of what transpired. At Ginny's last remark, McGonagall's lips thinned while Snape's curled, but it was McGonagall who spoke first.

"Such behaviour was entirely unwarranted. You will both make public apologies to each other at the next assembly and since you both seem to enjoy Muggle duelling, you will heal the Muggle way as well. I have instructed Madame Pomfrey not to dispense a drop of magical aid for your benefit. I expect it will take about a week before those bruises heal, Ms. Parkinson," she finished dryly.

Parkinson's expression was comically outraged, but she quelled at a glare from Snape.

"Really, Ms. Parkinson," he drawled, "I expected a better class of behaviour from one of my own students."

Parkinson's reply was a sullen, defeated scowl and both girls were dismissed forthwith.


	8. Test

**Prompt:** 8; Test

**Word Count:** 391

**A/N:** I don't like this one, but don't let that influence your opinion! The lyrics are appropriate because they pointed me in this direction; it only _looks_ like they have nothing to do with this drabble. ;)

Lyrics are from _Tango Maureen_, off the _RENT_ OST (Anthony Rapp and Tracy Thoms).

* * *

Loyal Test Subjects

-x-

_Say something, anything_

"_Test 1, 2, 3"_

_Anything but that_

-x-

The Gryffindor common room was bustling with its usual evening life as students lounged in armchairs and yelled at one another across the cosy room. One corner seemed to be busier than the rest as several first years crowded around a very recognizable pair of redheads.

"Who wants to try the Fever Fudge?" Fred asked loudly, addressing the group of little people who crowded about with eager faces.

A tiny girl with pixie like eyes waved her hand and smiled. "I will!"

Fred nodded at George who scribbled her name and the name of the candy down on the clipboard as he tossed the sweet to the girl.

"Puking Pastille, anyone?"

Fred grinned when a stocky lad with a chubby face offered. His eyes glinted with mischief as he shared the joke with George.

Fainting Fancies and Nosebleed Nougats were distributed in a similar manner and the twins watched as two or three first years collapsed while several more began retching in the waste bins they'd conjured up. One or two were battling nosebleeds, and several were complaining of fevers, including the pixie-like girl. Fred peered at the ailing students with an almost clinical curiosity and George kept writing things down.

"I think the Fever Fudge dose might have to be -"

"Calculated by weight?" George finished for him. "Yeah, but the Murtlap Essence doesn't seem to be distributed evenly enough.

"Mixing problem," Fred said offhandedly. "At least we fixed the Pastilles. Those were a right terror to get right."

His twin nodded in agreement. "It's about time to wake them," he said as Fred checked his watch.

George watched as Fred popped the other end of the Fainting Fancies into the mouths of the unconscious students and couldn't help grinning amiably as they woke up in surprise.

The Fever Fudge testers were very vocal with their complaints until Fred told them it was okay to take the other end, and the first years who tried the Puking Pastilles gratefully forced down the other end of their sweet, but the stocky youth who had first volunteered seemed to have trouble keeping his down.

The twins shared a glance then looked back at him and shrugged before distributing Galleons to their test subjects. Despite a few minor bugs (caused by greediness of the individual), Skiving Snackboxes were ready to hit the market.


	9. Drink

**Prompt:** 9; Drink

**Word Count:** 400

**A/N:** I'm a lot happier with this one. Also, research is fun ^^

* * *

dulce et decorum est

_Kreacher is a loyal house elf of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black. _

When young Master Regulus volunteered Kreacher to be a test subject for the Dark Lord, Kreacher went happily in service of his Master. When the Dark Lord left him in terrible pain on an island in a dark cave in the middle of nowhere, it was his dedication to young Master Regulus that allowed Kreacher to Apparate back to his Master's side.

_Kreacher is sworn to protect the House of Black._

When Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to take him back to _that_ place, Kreacher went along to keep his Master safe. When young Master Regulus sliced his hand open as blood payment for entrance to the horrible place, Kreacher flinched, but bit his tongue. When Master Regulus reached the small island and conjured a cup, meaning to drink the foul liquid that had put Kreacher through so much agony, Kreacher humbly offered himself in place of the young Master.

_Kreacher watches helplessly as Master Regulus puts cupful after cupful of the liquid to his mouth and shakes his long ears as the screams echo painfully around the endless cavern. Out of the dark water, creatures are crawling, creatures that Kreacher can see clearly with his huge, bat-like eyes. Kreacher feels fear for the second time in this cave as his master slips and falls, the goblet tumbling out of his grasp to land with an ominous clatter on the stone of the island._

_Kreacher never disobeys his masters. _

When young Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to feed him the rest of the drink, Kreacher complied. When Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to take the locket at the bottom of the basin and replace it with a locket of his own design, Kreacher obeyed. And when Master Regulus ordered Kreacher to sail back to the shore, _to_ _leave him_, the young Master, Kreacher followed through without fail. And the loyal house elf watched from the shores as those hideous creatures dragged his Master down into the water.

Kreacher has only failed his Master once, and he punishes himself for it every day. When the young Master ordered Kreacher to destroy the locket, Kreacher could not find a way to do so. So Kreacher keeps the locket close to him, a memento of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black and of the Master he failed to obey.

_-fin-_


	10. Angry

**Prompt:** 10; Angry

**Word Count:** 179

**A/N:** I got distracted reading Snape's timeline on the HPL. Fascinating stuff.

* * *

Things that make Severus Snape Angry

1. Losing the Defence against the Dark Arts job every year to incompetent fools.

2. Dunderheads in his Potions class year after year.

3. The students who think it's funny to leave him anonymous gifts of heavy-duty hair care products.

4. Lily Evans chose James Potter over him.

5. Harry Potter

6. James Potter

7. Potters

8. Potters that get away with everything.

9. Sirius Black

10. Werewolves, especially Remus Lupin

11. Harry Potter found his old Potions textbook and used it to curse Draco Malfoy.

12. Draco Malfoy can't do anything himself.

13. Albus Dumbledore can't do anything himself.

14. The Dark Lord can't do anything himself.

15. Bellatrix Lestrange is nosy.

16. The Dark Lord lied when he promised that Severus could have Lily Potter after he killed her son

17. Pettigrew betrayed Lily and the Potters.

18. The Dark Lord made him babysit Wormtail for an entire summer.

19. He serves two masters but doesn't get anything out of either of them.

20. Albus Dumbledore's never ending attempts to make him a 'better man'.

21. Dying


	11. Dreams

**Prompt:** 11; Dreams

**Word Count:** 398

**A/N:** Treat it like modern art: tilt your head to one side, squint your eyes, and you'll get the point. ^^

Kind of inspired by _For Thine is the Kingdom_ by blahnicity (on LJ) and also VickyVicarious's 'Doorway' drabble. Kind of.

* * *

The Man of Her Dreams

-x-

The first time she meets him in her dreams, the mist creeps steadily around her ankles and she stares at him in confused surprise. Why should her subconscious conjure up _him_ in her most vulnerable moments?

"Draco Malfoy," she murmurs. The name slips out unbidden and with startling ease, rolling off her tongue in a way it has never done when she was awake.

"You're dead," she points out, though she's not sure who she's pointing that fact out to. It's more likely to reinforce the insanity of talking to the recently deceased.

His response is enigmatic. "Only if you want me to be."

"No, no," she counters. "You're dead. I _saw_ you die in the second battle at the Ministry. You were hit with the Killing Curse; you _died_."

He simply smirks with infuriating charm while Ginny tries hard not to sputter, and she wakes up before she can kill him again herself.

It takes a while for her to get used to his presence and several dreams later the mist curls around her knees like a welcoming pet, seeping through the material of her threadbare robe to chill her legs.

"Why are you still here?" she asks him curiously. She's given up trying to kill him now; this Zen-like atmosphere doesn't exactly encourage homicidal urges, and, besides, what could Malfoy do in _her_ dream?

"I guess I haven't really moved on," he answers absently.

Ginny is confused; her imagination has created a most intriguing Malfoy. Maybe that's why when he moves towards her and lifts a hand to touch her hair, she doesn't flinch. He's only doing what she wants him to do after all, because it _is_ her dream.

Despite this, she is still startled awake by his gentle kiss.

Now the mist is swirling sinisterly around her waist as she stares around the dull void. Well, void of everything save the man in front of her. How is it that she has never realized the colour of his eyes exactly matches the colour of this emptiness? They are so close now that she is only mildly surprised by the similarity.

She feels so at peace here, with this Malfoy of her imagination. So it is no far stretch for her to accept his extended hand and allow him to pull her deeper into the ever encroaching mist. Nothing will startle her awake this time.

_-fin-_


	12. Puzzle

**Prompt:** 12; Puzzle

**Word Count:** 324

**A/N:** I love ambiguity. Interpret this however you like, but leave me a review telling me how you do! ^^

Also: I met a dog named Puzzle over the weekend, so this was _almost_ a domestic!D/G drabble ;)

You get a cookie if you know the poem without Googling ;) (Cookies are made of your imagination).

* * *

You Fit Into Me

-x-

_You fit into me_

_Like a hook into an eye_

_A fish hook_

_An open eye_

-x-

They fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle. And Luna imagines herself falling into step beside him like puzzle pieces fall into place beside each other, fitting ever so perfectly, like the entwined fingers of their hands.

Because they _are_ a puzzle, Luna muses when she sees the odd stares people give them as they walk the corridors of Hogwarts together. Their relationship is as puzzling as a thousand-piece challenge and infinitely more complex. It may just take forever to figure out, but Luna knows she's got plenty of time.

And whether they are strolling or sitting, talking or just staring quietly at each other, Luna knows the puzzle is slowly putting itself together, and she will have the complete picture in no time. Because every moment spent with him is a snapshot of memory held and treasured, to be reflected on in ponderous solitude as a sort of map of their final picture.

She knows how lucky she is to have found him, despite him believing he is the lucky one. She never had much of a choice: from the first moment he smirked at her and the puzzle began to take shape in her mind, she yearned to complete it.

First the outlines. And that was hard: finding the right pieces to frame the picture, close it in, make it stable. And now she's still filling bits in when he's not looking or even when he is, because a puzzle is so much easier when you've got two people working on it.

He thinks it's charming how she's still trying to complete the puzzle, smiling as he kisses her on the nose, murmuring "You are the puzzle," over and over until Luna is so puzzled that she finally believes him and has to kiss him back to sort it all out.

Because he's locked her in a puzzle, and she's not sure if she ever wants to figure her way out.

_-fin-_

_

* * *

_

Because I don't want to get sued: Quote this time is from 'You Fit Into Me' by Margaret Atwood (whom I follow on Twitter and who is totally awesome).


	13. Discrepant

**Prompt:** 13; Discrepant

**Word Count:** 385

**Pairing:** Blaise/Luna

**A/N:** I like to think of this as a companion piece to 'You Fit Into Me', but you don't have to read it that way.

* * *

One of These Things is Not Like the Other

_(in which the author thinks she is amusing)_

-x-

Blaise Zabini was not like other Slytherins. He realized this from an early age when his mother told him to play with all the other Death Eaters' sons and he couldn't even set up a proper _Pillages Villages_ play set. _That_ episode marked him forever as the Slytherin that wasn't.

Then he got to Hogwarts and the Sorting Hat put him in Slytherin anyway, because _he had lots of ambition_, whatever that meant. All he knew was that he wanted to maybe be totally wicked cool awesome and take over the world one day. Or Malfoy Enterprises. Which was almost the same thing, really.

He didn't even hate Mudbloods with the proper passion, and, until he actually met one, he didn't know they were called anything else. In fact, once he got to Hogwarts he quickly learned that there were in fact people out there who didn't subscribe to the idea of the Dark Lord ruling everything.

And there were Mums who actually stayed married to Dads instead of flitting around among suitors.

Maybe she was to blame for his discrepancy issues. Blaise has never really had any stability in his life, what with his mother changing husbands and lovers as often as he changed shirts (both things increasing in frequency as he got older). Maybe it's inherited, this inability to make up your mind.

So, some days Blaise is all for Pureblood supremacy, because he figures he'd get pretty good deals with a Ministry run by all his old schoolmates; and some days he wonders what the point is, because Harry Potter's going to win anyway, no matter what Malfoy and his cohorts think.

But most days, he just wants to know that she's safe. That all this ugliness will never touch her: his one golden beacon of hope and light and stability. The one thing he's been sure of since he was five and adamant about not wearing that pink shirt with the dragons on it. She is, after all, the main reason he is so different, why he stands out, why he _sticks_ out where so many others are afraid to (others like Malfoy and that red-headed Gryffindor girl). But best of all, she makes him _fit in_ somewhere. With her.

And he loves how they fit together, in discrepant harmony.

_-fin-_


	14. Holiday

**Prompt:** 14; Holiday

**Word Count:** 400

**A/N:** If I can get you to cringe _once_ at the imagery, then my job is done.

* * *

Because we're All on Holiday

-x-

_Can I get another Amen?  
There's a flag wrapped around a score of men  
A gag, a plastic bag on a monument_

-x-

There have been many disasters at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, particularly when one Harry Potter had attended, but nothing quite trumps Headmaster Dumbledore's proposal for a staff trip.

Once, as the school year drew to a close and students and teachers alike were looking forward to a long summer spent away, Albus Dumbledore suggested that the teachers take a vacation to an unknown Muggle seaside village.

"No," Snape said flatly when Dumbledore first brought the idea up.

The old blue eyes twinkled with infuriating merriment.

"Come, come, Severus," the Headmaster encouraged in a tone that often led to Snape performing horribly unpleasant acts (such as making Wolfsbane for his old school enemy).

(In later years, a rumour would be started that Snape voted for the holiday because he wanted to see McGonagall in a bikini.)

Snape remained unconvinced. McGonagall studiously avoided Dumbledore's eyes, glanced at the peculiar dress of Trelawney, bit her tongue against making a set down, and shared a moment of amusement with Pomona Sprout. Flitwick bounced out of his high chair with undisguised glee.

"That sounds like a marvellous idea, Headmaster," he trilled in a voice several pitches higher than any adult male and beamed when Dumbledore smiled benignly at him.

Trelawney blinked at everyone with sherry-drugged eyes, while Hagrid ruminated with some discomfort on Dumbledore's choice of a _Muggle_ beach.

-x-

The day of the proposed venture was sunny. The mood of the Hogwarts staff as they picked their way across hot sand was not. The coast had been reserved specially for them so the commotion in the changing rooms when Hagrid had . . . _disrobed_ did not much affect anyone other than the party. They arrived on the beach none the worse for wear, except for Snape's involuntary spasms whenever Hagrid walked across his field of vision, and proceeded to enjoy as awkward a gathering as ever occurred on a beach on Muggle London.

It was, as McGonagall later related to her sister, an utter failure. No one volunteered to remove their towels after Dumbledore stepped boldly out of the changing rooms in nothing but what Muggles called a Speedo - Sprout fainted while Trelawney blushed – and Snape's hair was dripping though he hadn't ventured into the water. In the future, she concluded with an exasperated sigh, they would leave the holiday outings to people who were without fear of heart failure.


	15. Mirror

**Prompt:** 15; Mirror

**Word Count:** 272

**Pairing:** Bill/Fleur

**A/N:** While writing this, I felt possessed. O_o Also: first person narration is a rarity for me, so enjoy.

* * *

Beauty and the Beast

-x-

_Mirror, mirror on the wall_

_Who is the fairest of them all?_

-x-

Bill cannot look at mirrors anymore; he says they're all liars. Because the reflection he sees isn't him, couldn't be him, not when he feels so young and _whole_ on the inside. So I've given them up, my vanity. I loved to look in mirrors; all day long I could stare at myself: long blonde hair, lithe body and perfectly Gallic features. I'd bless my _grand-mère_ for her Veela inheritance and revel in my beauty. You think me conceited? I'm only repeating what everyone says, in any case. Perhaps _they_ are the conceited ones, to believe they know what true beauty is.

Because when I look at my husband I see beauty, perfection. I see not scars, but the kisses of the gods. My husband is blessed, but the gods are rarely gentle, and their imprint has been confused for worse than war-wounds before. I am not blind, or mad, and I lost my _naïveté _in a long ago battle. I know what the world sees, and it is the mirror of their gaze that my husband calls _un menteur_. These mirrors built by mortals can reflect only the limited scope of their vision. He does not yet know that so well as I.

And so if my husband grows morose when he reflects upon his countenance, I kiss him with abandon and tell him the only mirror he ever needs worry about is the mirror of my soul. There, he is reflected in all his radiance and glory. So, we discard the mirrors of mortal men and reflect instead upon the miraculous mirror that only two souls in love can create.

* * *

**T/N:**

_un menteur_ –a liar


	16. Seeking Peace

**Prompt:** 16; Seeking Peace

**Word Count:** 398

**Pairing:** ninja!Draco/Ginny

**A/N:** It's almost canon, but not quite. If you're leaving a review, pay special attention to word use, please; I'd like some feedback on that. And characterization as well, of course.

* * *

Pax Eternum

-x-

_The opposite of war isn't peace; it's creation._

-x-

_They stand on a parapet in the school's highest tower and above them a Mark twists in revolting parody of the great leveller. Of the four souls seeking peace this night, only one will find it._

Harry, frozen, could only watch in horror as Dumbledore was disarmed by Draco Malfoy, anticlimactically and rather inopportunely exposed as a Death Eater. Their words were garbled murmurs as Harry's thoughts screamed impotently inside his own head. This war, this bloody war, had already taken lives and was reaching now with greedy fingers for another. This war, this bloody war, had turned schoolmates into murderers, and this bloody war was all that loomed in Harry's future. He wanted nothing less.

Draco wondered if anyone noticed the way his hand shook as he clutched the wand, aimed it at Dumbledore and opened his mouth to say the words that would save his family's name, and lives. They got stuck in his throat. _Typical, Draco_, he criticized himself, _you never rise to the occasion_. But he never wanted any of this. Just his family, just his happiness . . . and hers. And somehow as he gathered the courage to summon Death, his thoughts were only of _her_, his red-headed peace-maker. Draco'd had enough. He swallowed past the lump in his throat and steadied his hand.

Snape comprehended the scene on his arrival at once with a shrewdly calculating eye. He knew what he must do and, pointing the wand at the man who had protected him for so many years, summoned all the old hatred and contempt to the forefront of his expression. The sorrow, he hid. The endless pain, he hid. The regret, the desperation, the ache that never quite left his ancient broken heart, he buried beneath layers of practised disdain. Anyone watching could see the utter loathing he held for this pitiful old man. And yet, as Dumbledore plummeted majestically from the precipice, Snape couldn't help envying the man for finally escaping it all.

Dumbledore had faced Snape with an expression of weary pleading. He was old, and so very tired. Tired of evading death at every turn of his life, tired of battles and wars and fighting and, truth be told, tired of being depended upon. With this final act of sacrifice, he would have paid his debt tenfold, and when Death came, he was greeted as a comrade.


	17. Questioning

**Prompt:** 17; Questioning

**Word Count:** 398

**A/N:** Another rare sighting of the elusive first person narrative. For the record, I _loved_ this prompt. And, um, I'm not responsible for any _V for Vendetta_ vibes you may get from this.

* * *

not with a bang, but a whimper

-x-

They hauled him in for Questioning on the night of the fourteenth. It was a week before I saw him again, and the bruises hadn't yet healed. _Don't worry_, he told me, and wiped some blood from the corner of his lip. I saw him wince when he touched his face. _I didn't tell them anything_. Yeah, I remember thinking, your face wouldn't have looked so much like tenderized meat if you had. Your face wouldn't have looked much like anything.

They call it Questioning when they drag you off the street or out of your house and into one of their chambers. Not many people make it back and most of those who do can't really be called people. Not anymore. He was lucky, he told me. He was sent to a crowded chamber where they couldn't afford to kill _or_ keep him, so they just dumped him out with the trash one night.

They caught me one night, too. My fault. I was out past curfew in one of the nicer parts of town when they grabbed me and dragged me kicking and screaming to an Apparition point. I only stopped moving so I wouldn't Splinch myself, but I screamed my head off. They had to _Silencio _me to shut me up.

The chamber stank something awful when they brought me in. I'll never forget that smell – like nothing I ever smelled before. After a few minutes, I could recognize the stench of rotting humanity. I saw things that day that still give me nightmares. This time _I_ was the lucky one. I'd heard Malfoy was in charge of this one, that it was the harshest chamber. So it also gave the best results.

When they brought me to him, he just stared at me for a few minutes and I couldn't help staring back. He looked like a fairly decent bloke, someone I would've said Good Morning to on the street, if he didn't run the most infamous torture chamber in London. But he did, so I spat on his shoes. He sneered at me then and I remember thinking I was going to die right then and there, but he just told them to throw me out.

I was still shaking when I got home, and he held me as I pressed my face into his chest, swearing I'd never go back there again.


	18. Red

**Prompt:** 18; Red

**Word Count:** 372

**Pairing:** Draco/Ginny

**A/N: **Wherein _non sequitors_ seem to be the order of the day.

* * *

Meditation on Cerise

-x-

"I hate red," Draco said morosely, plucking at the red sweater with an emblazoned _D_ that Mrs. Weasley had given him for Christmas.

"You do not," Ginny denied.

"Yes, I do," Draco declared. "It's an awful colour, and no one ever looks good in it. Look at your family, they've all got red hair and they look like pillocks."

Ginny hit him with a cushion. "Do _I_ look like a pillock?"

"Of course not," Draco said mildly. "I don't make a habit of marrying pillocks."

"You'd better not make a habit of marrying anyone," Ginny warned.

"Red isn't a very fitting colour for a young lady," Draco said again. "Especially not such a virtuous one," he added with a leer.

Ginny glanced pointedly at Draco's hand where it rested on her inner thigh. "I think I lost that virtue some time ago."

"You have others that make up for it," Draco said casually.

"Red is the colour of passion," Ginny pointed out. "Would you rather have a virtuous wife than a passionate one?"

Draco paused for a moment and considered. Ginny's eyes narrowed.

"Draco, you'd better not be thinking about Astoria Greengrass if you like your hand attached to your body."

He smirked at her and ran his hand down her thigh to her knee and back again. "I like my hand, thank you very much."

"Besides," Ginny went on, "red hair is part of my heritage. It's sort of a family tradition, like your blonde hair and pointy chin."

"I do not have a pointy chin," Draco exclaimed indignantly.

"You did when you were at Hogwarts. I remember thinking that if you forgot your quill, all you had to do was dip your chin in ink and scribble away."

Draco stared at her in such affronted surprise that Ginny laughed and kissed him.

"There are lots of wonderful things that are red," she told him. "Like strawberries."

"Or blood." Draco said contrarily.

"And roses," she continued, ignoring him. "Sunsets, wine . . ."

Draco murmured in agreement when she started trailing her hand up and down _his_ thigh.

"Do you like anything else that's red?" she asked with an impish grin.

Draco growled before kissing her. "Your hair, on me."

* * *

_-fin-_

**A/N:** I might have crossed into almost-M rated territory with the last line. Or not.


	19. Happiness

**Prompt:** 19; Happiness

**Word Count:** 400

**Character:** Molly W.

* * *

Molly Weasley wouldn't be considered happy by most of her contemporaries: she had very little money, too many children and a Muggle-loving husband who had never ascended to any position worthy of note at the Ministry of Magic. Not to mention her house was a veritable burrow. But Molly Weasley was happier than most of her contemporaries: she had very little money, just enough children and a Muggle-loving husband who spent more time with his family than at work.

Of course she rarely had time to reflect on her state of mind while she corralled seven squalling children, the eldest barely able to help with the youngest, cleaned an ever-expanding magical dwelling, fought with a poltergeist and still had time to make sure the potatoes were cooked. In the rare moments when everyone was asleep and she had her feet propped up on an ottoman, a hot toddy between her palms and her husband's quiet reassuring presence, she would consider with some satisfaction the way she had survived the insanity for another day. She also considered, those times when Arthur was not there, how differently it might have turned out if she hadn't rejected an arranged marriage with Lucius Malfoy.

Of course she surmised that her distant cousin Narcissa was happy. She had endless wealth, an ambitious husband and a beautiful baby boy. Her house had grown as much as it ever would and she bet no one ever called _her_ dumpy. But Molly wondered if she would have found happiness with Lucius, if that had been _her_ money and _her_ house and _her_ blond baby boy. Well, he might have been pink-haired, she allowed with a chuckle. And freckles don't do a thing for emeralds.

Maybe, Molly thought to herself as she curled her toes in warmed slippers and sought out Arthur's hand with her own. But it wouldn't have been this kind of bone-deep contentment, a gladness she felt all the way to her soul when Ginny smiled at her for the first time and even though it was the seventh toothless newborn grin she'd gotten it still threw her for six. Or when Charlie picked flowers from her own garden and offered them to her proudly, or now, when she and Arthur sat in an amiable, filling silence savouring each other's company with an understanding that all the emeralds in the world couldn't purchase. _This_ was happiness.


	20. Family

**Prompt:** 20; Family

**Word Count:** 396

**Characters:** Ginny & Lucius

**A/N:** I may have fallen a little (more) in love with Lucius.

* * *

Familiarity breeds Contempt

-x-

"May I cut in?"

Ginny glanced up into a pair of grey eyes she never thought she would have to confront. The words, spoken with an old-word accent of politeness, sent a shiver down her spine and she clutched instinctively at the arms of the man she was dancing with. Cursing at her own timidity, she forced herself to relax and glanced at her partner questioningly. Her only answer was in the form of a raised eyebrow as he released her and Ginny wished her palms hadn't started sweating quite so much just then.

Draco stepped away with a glance at his father – to make sure he behaved, Ginny thought with dry humour - and a reassuring look for her benefit. Lucius stepped into his place gracefully and they faced each other with stiff formality as he led them into a quickstep. The man might have his faults, Ginny thought grudgingly, but he could certainly dance.

"Ms. Weasley, I am aware that you do not particularly like me," Lucius began calmly, pausing to accommodate Ginny's snort.

"But I find it prudent that, in light of your match with my son, we find some way to at least tolerate if not approve of each other."

Ginny's spine stiffened as she glared at him. The nerve of this man: interrupting her wedding dance with her new husband to inform her – in such a matter-of-fact tone, no less! – that he disapproved of her, and _still_ wanted them to play nicely. She opened her mouth to tell him just where he could shove his prudence, but an arched eyebrow stilled her tongue. Did she really want to insult the Malfoy patriarch on the night when she was marrying into his family?

"Despite my initial reservations," he continued, "I have come to realize that Draco was not entirely fool-hardy in marrying a Weasley."

Meaning, Ginny thought with bitter cynicism, that having the Weasley name so closely attached to their own could only help their reputation.

Lucius was still talking. "And I am pleased to welcome you into my family."

Ginny supposed she should look appropriately grateful, but it was rather difficult when her cheeks were red from the effort of biting her tongue. She settled for murmuring a smothered _Thank you_ and escaping at the end of the song to find her husband. Having Draco was worth joining a family she disliked.


	21. Divorce

**Prompt:** 21; Divorce

**Word Count:** 394

**A/N:** Telling the pairing(s) would ruin the suspense, but I want feedback on it/them. ;) Can I get feedback on the narrative style, too?

* * *

Happiness is a Warm Gun

-x-

_She's not a girl who misses much_

-x-

_He's_ going to divorce her, of course. He's said so several times, especially when the two of you are curled up post-coital like on a warm rumpled bed and he smirks at you with all the warmth of a snake. He lies with his eyes while his hands work overtime, bringing you inexorably to another peak of pleasure so that all the lingering doubts in your eyes are swept away on wave after wave of ecstasy.

His fingers trace your freckles delicately, almost reverently, and you giggle when he speaks to you in French endearments. You can't remember ever giggling over a man before, but you can't remember ever being the other woman either.

_You _can't believe he's doing this to you. You had your suspicions, but an overtaxed imagination is nothing compared to hard evidence, to a damning receipt, to her _perfume_ on his shirts. Not something cheap and tacky as you'd expected, but all the more heartbreaking for its obvious taste. _His_ taste. You know you look a wreck, clutching his shirt with a manicured hand and tears threatening to ruin carefully applied make-up. You know you should move before anyone sees you, but there's no one here but the elves. There's never anyone here but the elves.

Should you leave him? Your son is old enough to understand, and you've got enough money of your own to live comfortably. But, you think falteringly, society frowns upon divorce. And the Malfoy name could do without the bad publicity. You curl your fingers into the expensive cloth and without another thought Banish it from your sight. As your fingers reach for empty space, you only wish your problems could vanish that easily.

_You _adjust your tie with easy expertise and check your watch to make sure you're not late. A smirk graces your lips as you consider your darling wife, a few feet away in her own boudoir, both of you preparing for a dinner out to celebrate your silver anniversary. After all these years the thought of Narcissa still sets the blood thrumming through your veins. And the thought of Ginevra keeps you young inside. Divorce? Never. The marriage contract isn't one that allows for escape clauses either. You designed it yourself.

Satisfied with your appearance, you kiss her with a lover's lips and take her hand to Apparate you both away.


	22. Flying

**Prompt:** 22; Flying

**Word Count:** 400

**Character:** Neville

**A/N: **An anecdote.

* * *

To Conquer a Phobia

-x-

Neville hated flying. It was a perfectly normal phobia, he argued to himself. After all, wouldn't you hate flying too if your first experience of hurtling through the air came about because your great uncle pushed you off a cliff to see if you were a Squib?

Despite the positive outcome of that first terrifying encounter (if bouncing off sharp, jagged rocks could be described as _positive_), Neville was still wary when he arrived at Hogwarts and learned that flying was a compulsory class for first years. The ancient broom must have detected the tremor in his voice because it stayed resolutely parked on the ground at his feet, and Neville couldn't deny the relief that followed when the thing refused to hover into his waiting hand. For the sake of appearances, he continued to try and was dismayed when, moments later, the broom reluctantly levitated upwards. He just _had_ to be a Pureblood.

And so, years later, when the challenge was this time to fly on an invisible winged creature high above Muggle London to face Death Eaters and Merlin only knew what else, Neville balked quite understandably. He looked with undisguised distaste at the plod of earth that was being pawed by an unseen foot (or hoof or claw, possibly) and winced in trepidation. But Neville was a Gryffindor (and worth ten of Malfoy, no less) so he tried to quell his terror at riding something he couldn't even see. He'd pretend he was in one of the horseless Hogwarts carriages. Except now he knew they _weren't_ horseless.

Swallowing his fear and dredging up his courage, he climbed awkwardly behind her onto the back of the creature. Before he could shut his eyes tightly, they were off and _flying_. Neville was struck dumb for a moment, and forgot to register the movement of wings against his legs, lost in the view of what he was seeing. That he was clutching Luna helped to calm him down considerably, and Neville realized with a pleasant jolt that this wasn't half bad. Not nearly as terrifying as a broom or sheer cliff face. In fact he could quite enjoy the wind tangling his hair and the clouds they zoomed over, as long as he didn't consider too keenly the ground that was below them.

Neville relaxed and let a hesitant grin come across his face. He could get used to this.


	23. Drowning

**Prompt:** 23; Drowning

**Word Count:** 285

**Character:** Scorpius Malfoy

**A/N: **I like to think of this as the play date that never was.

* * *

Breathe Easy

-x-

"You _can_ swim, can't you?"

"Of course I can!" Four year old indignation is plain on his features as young Scorpius Malfoy surveys the pond at the back of the Weasley house with some trepidation.

"Then come on," Hugo urges. "The water's warm and everything."

Scorpius hesitates, because he's not sure what his mother might do if she finds out that he went into a _pond_. And he might ruin his fancy robes.

And he really can't swim.

But Rose takes him by the hand and tugs him behind her into water. Suddenly the robes are off, thrown carelessly onto the muddy bank – oops – and he's following his new best friends into the water.

"It's cold," he says accusingly, but Hugo is grinning at him unrepentantly.

A splash of water comes out of nowhere to hit him in the face and when he tries to yell, there is another and another and then he's underwater and it's dark and he can't breathe...

"Help!" Scorpius calls between splashes. "I'm drownding!"

He's in water up to his armpits and he can't seem to stand, flailing about for all he's worth in the small pond. His panic is short-lived though because Mrs. Weasley comes over a moment later to scoop him out of the water and stand him up firmly. He rubs his eyes and looks down to find that he's standing in water that barely covers his ankles. Hugo is laughing at him mercilessly and Scorpius reddens, checking to see if their mother has moved away before sticking his tongue out at the older boy.

He feels much better when Rose slips her hand into his and confides in a murmur, "I wouldn't have let you drown."


	24. Bed

**Prompt:** 24; Bed

**Word Count:** 400

**Pairing:** Draco/Ginny

**A/N:** It's an outtake, of sorts.

Also, Inception is the shit.

* * *

Sleeping on the Run

-x-

_There's a train, and it's going far, far away. You know where you hope it will take you, but you can't know for sure. That doesn't matter, though. How can that not matter?_

_Because you'll be going together._

-x-

Ginny didn't know where Draco was thinking of putting the incredibly large object he was trying to manoeuvre into her personal space, but she was fairly certain it wasn't going to fit wherever he intended for it to go.

"Ouch, Draco! Stop pushing," she said loudly.

His reply was a muffled apology, and Ginny frowned as he tried once more to get the oversized bed through a door that was just too small. After one final heave, he gave up and allowed the furniture to drop with a thump, leaning against the doorjamb to push sweaty strands of hair out of his eyes. Lines of frustration ran across his forehead and at the corners of his eyes and Ginny knew they had little to do with a king-sized bed in a studio apartment.

She sat at the edge of the bed on her side and looked up at him contemplatively.

"Do you regret what we did?" she asked, her eyes challenging him to answer.

The frustration in his expression seemed to ease as he looked at her, leaning across the bed to take her hand.

"No," he answered decidedly. "Not right now at least," he added with a casual smirk. "And certainly not over a bed."

"But if we could use magic, we'd have finished unpacking ages ago. Though I don't see why you had to buy such a huge bed anyway."

"We're on the run, Ginny; magic isn't exactly a viable option when we're trying to blend in with Muggles."

Ginny smiled at the concealed distaste in his tone as he said the word. He wouldn't tolerate this life for very long, but hopefully they wouldn't have to.

"Besides," he was saying, "big beds are useful for several reasons." Ginny blushed at the heated look he gave her.

"I suppose you're right, this time," she allowed, reaching for a pillow. There was no reason the bed couldn't stay in the living room after all.

"Darling, I'm always right," Draco told her, stretching with a feline grace and drawing her closer to him. "You don't want to remember the first bed we shared as some pitiful thing, barely big enough for both of us."

"We could hardly afford to buy sheets for it."

"Just admit you like the bed."

"Fine. I like the bed."

"Love the bed?"

"No." There was a pause. "But I love you."

"I love you, too."


	25. Balloon

**Prompt:** 25; Balloon

**Word Count:** 244

**Character:** Arabella Figg

**A/N:** There's really no excuse for this . . .

* * *

The Spy Who Came in from the Cold

-x-

Arabella Figg was a Squib and a spy for Albus Dumbledore. Due to the nature of her talents, she was uniquely qualified for monitoring the exploits of one Harry James Potter, resident of Privet Drive, Little Whinging. Arabella had seen many strange and fantastic sights both in the magical and Muggle world, but nothing quite prepared her for the events of one drowsy July afternoon.

As usual, she had her cats spying on the inhabitants of Number Four and she knew that Mr. Vernon's sister was visiting with the family. She knew from previous visits that the sister Vernon did not approve of Harry, or her brother's family for taking him in, and she was on the lookout, now that Harry had come into his magical powers, for anything to go awry. What happened that night exceeded her expectations.

It was just about dinnertime in the evening when she happened to look out of her window and see the magically bloated body of Marge Vernon float up and out of the Vernon's backyard into the twilight sky. Had anyone been around to see her, they would have laughed as Arabella's eyes widened comically and she clutched her house hat before scurrying over to her fireplace and throwing a handful of green powder into the flames.

Meanwhile, the giant ballooning figure of Marge Vernon drifted ceaselessly on the wind, like some forgotten child's toy. It would be a while before someone got her down again.


	26. Compressed

**Prompt:** 26; Compressed

**Word Count:** 210

**Pairing:** Draco/Ginny

**A/N: **I think this is as close as I've ever gotten to smut, and that says a lot. :|

Lines are from Pablo Neruda's Sonnet XVII

* * *

Palpation

-x-

_So I love you because I know no other way  
Tha__n__ this: where I does not exist, nor you,  
So close that your hand on my chest is my hand,  
So close that your eyes close as I fall asleep._

-x-

She kisses him hard, pressed along the length of his body and matching every hard plane and angle with her own soft curves. He pulls her closer, closer to him and she wishes there were no clothes between them so they could be pressed together with irrefutable, irrevocable intimacy. Every inch of them is joined, compressed as his fingers tangle in her hair and she clutches desperately at his shoulders, wriggling against him in frustration that they can't possibly get any closer. Not here, at least. Draco skims a hand beneath her blouse and his touch electrifies her skin, sending desire arcing through her blood. She needs more, tugging jerkily at the buttons on his shirt, whimpering when his hands move to her waistband and dip below the skirt to touch her there. A tease. No matter. She rakes her fingernails along his back in retaliation, revelling in the hiss that accompanies the tell-tale shudder of pleasure, and when he hooks her leg around him to press their hips more closely together Ginny moans into his mouth. She never thought she could be like this, never thought it would feel so _good_. And when Draco slips a hand between them to unbuckle his trousers, she knows it will get better.


	27. Reinvigorated

**Prompt:** 27; Reinvigorated

**Word Count:** 296

**Character:** Ollivander

**A/N: **Lines are from Chris Brown's Crawl. I'm not usually this kitschy, I promise.

* * *

Redemption

-x-

_So we'll crawl until we can walk again_

_We'll run until we're strong enough to jump_

-x-

Ollivander looked out the window in his room at Shell Cottage, sensing that his time here was drawing to a close. He wanted to leave and yet he didn't wish to relinquish the safety and protection that this building offered him. Every day he could his strength returning to him and his bones protruded less with each meal. He was no longer the broken tortured being he had been when Harry Potter had first rescued him and brought him here. At least not on the outside.

Every day as he watched the sun set and practiced walking around the tiny room, he felt some of his old self coming back and felt also that parts of it had been irredeemably lost. The months spent in the Malfoy dungeon had stripped him of much besides good health, but Ollivander felt that the time had come to move out and move on. Whether that was due in part to a certain blonde-haired witch with protuberant eyes and a unique view of the world was undecided, but Ollivander felt a moving of his spirit, a steady reinvigoration that flowed whenever his old cellmate came to visit.

Whenever Ollivander realized the youthful spark in those eyes, he was encouraged to do more than sit around and wait Fleur to come with his food. No longer could he deny the part he had played in Voldemort's search and eventual acquisition of the Elder wand. No longer could he lay the blame at the feet of his torturers. So Ollivander pushed himself to recover to regain his strength, just enough to atone for his sins. The chance came sooner than expected: one night he came down to dinner with the other inhabitants of the cottage, and the next night he was gone.


	28. Spilt Milk

**Prompt:** 28; Spilt Milk

**Word Count:** 277

**Character:** Ginny Weasley

**A/N: **Um, it's cute? *fail***  
**

Accidents Happen

-x-

"I cannot believe I failed that Potions test!" Ginny complained. "I studied my arse off for it, and what do I get for my hard work? A 'D'. Snape has the gall to give me, his most hardworking student a 'D'." She ended with a much frustrated harrumph and crossed her arms over a heaving chest.

Luna offered her friend some cinnamon toast and took a sip of her apple juice before replying.

"Well, what do you think went wrong?"

Ginny fired up again. "I couldn't even tell you – one minute the potion was changing colour perfectly and then the next thing I knew my feet were soaked in Amortentia." She huffed in annoyance and munched unhappily on a piece of toast.

Luna slid a goblet of pumpkin juice in front of her and watched her warily. "So the fact that Draco Malfoy walked into class about five seconds before your cauldron tipped over was just a coincidence?"

Ginny's eyes narrowed at Luna's innocent tone. "Yes," she answered firmly. "The git wouldn't dare try anything with Professor Snape there."

Luna thought this reasoning was rather flawed but very wisely kept her opinions to herself.

"It's just not fair. He saw that the potion was perfect and he knew how hard I'd worked – a 'D' was wholly unnecessary."

"Well," Luna said pragmatically, "it's no use ranting over spilt milk – or love potion. You'll just have to be more careful next time."

"I suppose," Ginny agreed reluctantly, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "I just wish I knew what happened."

Across the Great Hall, Draco Malfoy watched the redhead fume with a diabolical smirk etched firmly on his features.


	29. Contempt

**Prompt:** 29; Contempt

**Word Count:** 278

**Character:** Draco Malfoy

**A/N: **If you're wondering, no I don't think this makes any sense either. But it was fun to write :)

* * *

Hate is a Strong Word

-x-

Draco felt he had a lot to be contemptuous of, and it was all a self-righteous bastard like himself needed to survive. First there was that stupid Harry Potter and his stupid scar and his stupid way of getting away with breaking the stupid rules at school. He was so _stupid_. Then there was that Muggle-loving Weasley family – red hair, freckles and more children than they could afford. They were dirt poor blood traitors, not even fit to lick the scum off Draco's boots, and so he constantly reminded himself.

Then you had the Mudbloods like Granger who thought they were so clever, but really they just tainted Hogwarts with their filthy Mudblood ways. He often sneered at her as she trailed around the school behind Pothead and accompanied by the blood traitor, acting as if they owned the place. Ha. His father owned the place and one day he would show them.

Of course there was the Muggle-loving fool Albus Dumbledore whom he had to call Headmaster. Father was right when he said the school had gone to the dogs when Dumbledore took over; it was a shame they hadn't offered Father the post because there was no way he would've employed the barbarous half-giant Hairy or whatever his name was to work as a Professor. He wouldn't have hired the werewolf Remus Lupin either. Honestly, some people just had no class.

Like the Weasley girl. Just last week, Draco had caught her staring at him and she didn't look away when he met her eyes. The nerve of her! She actually had the gall to smile at him, and once he stopped himself from throwing up at the sight of her freckles, Draco almost thought she was pretty. In a very plebeian sort of way, you understand. She had nice hair, despite it being red; and cherry lips that just begged for kissing even though they weren't fit to kiss the dirt off his shoes.

He recovered in time to sneer at her, relieved when she finally looked away but still deeply unsettled to find that he wasn't very contemptuous of _her _after all.


	30. Acceptance

**Prompt:** 30; Acceptance

**Word Count:** 276

**Pairing:** Draco/Ginny

**A/N: **This was fun to write – I love dialogue.

* * *

The Consequences of Defiance

-x-

"No . . . No. There is no way I'm allowing that Death Eater into my house. There are children here, Ginny. I can't understand why you'd want Draco Malfoy here anyway.

What? You _what_? And you're WHAT? Where is he? Tell that bastard to get here before I have him put in Azkaban! No, Ginny, you wanted him to have dinner with us, so he's having _dinner_. Tonight. Molly says dinner's at seven."

. . .

"Draco, what could you possibly have been thinking? . . . Love? What do you know of love? You're just a boy and a Pureblood. Sentiments like that are for commoners. No, you may not bring her to Malfoy Manor – your mother would have a conniption.

She's what? Then get rid of it. Now, now, Draco, no need to get testy. Put your wand away. You're going to what? Not hardly, my dear boy. If you do, that will be the last I'll see of you. And don't go behind my back to your mother about this one."

-x-

"Isn't she beautiful? She's absolutely adorable. Of course my daughter makes nice children . . . Arthur, will you stop trying to kill Draco now? He's given us such a precious grandchild. I knew this wedding was a good idea from the start. When can I have more grandbabies?"

. . .

"Oh, Lucius, she's perfectly precious. Oh, but you must look at her. She looks just like Draco did as a baby, only prettier . . . Nonsense. Her hair is blonde, of course, and there's not a freckle in sight. We must be careful to keep her out of the sun, and look! – she knows her Grandmother.

Lucius? You will come and look at this child, or you'll find my door locked tonight. She's an absolute darling; I must thank Ginevra for adding her to the family. Love matches always produce wonderful children. I couldn't be happier."


	31. City

**Prompt:** 31; City

**Word Count:** 382

**Pairing:** Harry/Hermione

**A/N:** I promise more D/G to come . . . later.

* * *

Burn this City

-x-

_I walk these empty streets_

_On the boulevard of broken dreams_

_Where the city sleeps_

_And I'm the only one and I walk alone_

-x-

The city is a big place, Harry thinks, and it's easy to get lost there. He trudges through a bleakly overcast London, for once not revelling in the anonymity Muggle London affords. Green eyes look out from behind battered round-rimmed specs and a mop of untidy black hair tumbles artlessly over his forehead to hide the tell-tale scar.

With hands shoved into coat pockets, his feet amble aimlessly around the lively city. Inclement weather is no deterrent to the pedestrians who hail taxis and conduct business with a take-no-prisoners attitude. Harry can't tell what's brought on the current round of melancholia, but he's hoping a walk will help him clear out his mind. So far it's not working.

He releases a sigh as he stands in what would have been the shadow of a skyscraper had there been more than a pitiful scrap of daylight. He peers up at the immense building, losing himself in his thoughts and cutting a striking profile against the bustling backdrop of urban ubiquity. Suddenly, he finds himself caught in an unexpected downpour. He blinks rapidly to clear his eyes and as rain streams down the lenses of his spectacles and spatters his coat and sneakers. The untidy black hair has turned a shade or two darker, plastered to his forehead, and Harry is contemplating how utterly alone his life is at the moment when suddenly a warm, gloved hand slips into his.

Startled, he turns around to see Hermione Granger standing under an umbrella with a small smile on her face, staring directly at him. She moves towards him and makes a sound of exasperation as she uses her wand discreetly to cast an Impervious Charm on his glasses. All of a sudden a warmth spreads through Harry's chest and his heart lightens as Hermione squeezes his hand, leaning in to give him a quick kiss.

'There you are,' she says naturally, as if it's the most normal thing in the world for Harry Potter to be standing in the rain. 'We've been looking for you.'

She grasps his hand more firmly in hers and begins to pull him with her – back to warmth and dryness and belonging.

The city is a big place, Harry thinks, but it's still easy to find what you're looking for.


	32. Blue

**Prompt:** 32; Blue

**Word Count:** 290

**Pairing:** Ron/Pansy

**A/N:** D/G next chapter, definitely!

* * *

something borrowed, something blue

-x-

Pansy's always considered herself to be an emeralds-and-silver kind of girl. Not just because she was in Slytherin while at Hogwarts, but because those jewellery complimented her complexion and befitted her status as a Pureblood heiress. She just knew that her engagement ring would be silver with an emerald inset.

Then later it was because of her short-lived crush on the Boy Who Lived – emerald eyes that had Pansy swooning her entire first year of Hogwarts until she quickly learned that he's never condescend to speak to a Slytherin, least of all her. And then it was her crush on a boy with eyes like molten mercury. Draco Malfoy had seemed to be perfect for her: their parents approved of the match, he was without a doubt the best (read: most influential) male catch in Slytherin, just as she was the best (read: wealthiest) female catch of their year. That affair had soured quickly too, when she caught Draco snogging a Gryffindor redhead in the library one afternoon.

The bottom line is Pansy's never been fond of the lesser gems – like topaz for instance. She could never see the merit in such a pale, unpretentious stone. Until she realized they were the exact colour of Ron Weasley's eyes. Now Pansy's all about topaz stones, and the occasional turquoise; never mind the fact that it's her birthstone. And when Ron (finally) presented her with a gold-and-topaz inset engagement ring, she couldn't have been happier. Who needs dashing heroes with emerald-and-silver eyes? She'll keep her errant night, with his shock of red hair and eyes like the purest ocean.

Besides, Pansy remarks, as she contemplates the ring fixed snugly on her finger, gold-and-topaz compliments her skin far better than plain old emerald-and-silver.


	33. Hear No Evil

**Prompt:** 33; Hear No Evil

**Word Count:** 376

**Pairing:** Draco/Ginny

**A/N:** The good ol' fire and ice ship.

* * *

Deaf Men Tell No Tales

-x-

Why, Ginny ranted, did she have to get stuck with the most infuriating, obnoxious, condescending git of a dig partner, just because he held a Masters Degree in the study of Ancient Runes? Ginny rather doubted Malfoy was a master of anything – other than how to get on her nerves. She glared at him as he stood there, palms outstretched in the universal gesture of surrender. Surrender? Ha! Ginny Weasley took no prisoners. She had to admit, the sight of Draco Malfoy staring at her pleadingly was a novel experience, and the vulnerability in his eyes certainly made him look like less of a self-centred prat.

Draco cupped a hand around one ear and knit his eyebrows together as he tried to piece together what she was saying. He couldn't hear a word and not for lack of volume, either.

'Why would you go and touch a cursed totem – of all things, Malfoy! Didn't you think to use your head and check the bloody thing for hidden spells? Merlin knows what else you picked up from that thing. With any luck it's some ancient plague,' Ginny grumbled.

Ginny refused to let her heart go out to him, despite the fact that she had grown somewhat attached to the git during their year-odd of working together. It was times like these, when he did something so incredibly stupid that she got really riled up at him. Never mind how adorably excited he'd looked when he had figured out the runic puzzle that enabled them to claim their 'prize'.

She had to admit that after the initial explosion she'd been terrified that something more drastic had happened to him. In fact, worse things could happen than Draco Malfoy losing his hearing.

Ginny twirled her wand idly as she observed him. He was staring at her helplessly.

'You're a stubborn, hair-obsessed, narcissistic pillock,' she tested, letting the statement dangle. Draco frowned and leaned closer to her and with a small smile she continued. 'But I think I might be falling in love with you.'

She was startled when a moment later, Draco smirked.

'That's lovely, Weasley,' he told her loudly. 'Did I ever tell you I could read lips?' And he reached over to kiss away her shocked expression.


	34. Heartless

**Prompt:** 34; Heartless

**Word Count:** 301

**Pairing:** Draco/Ginny

**A/N: **In my head, this is a companion fic to 'Seeking Peace', but from Draco's perspective.

Lyrics are from _Heartless_ by Jim Sturgess (off the Heartless ST). I pretty much Googled 'heartless' and clicked 'I'm feeling lucky' to come up with a quote for this one. :)

* * *

Affairs of the Heart

-x-

_Come back and prove the world's not heartless . . ._

-x-

'Heartless bastard!' she'd called me – screamed, really – as I left her in the Room of Requirement, and walked towards my destiny.

Looking back on those interminable moments, I'll never know what gave me the strength (for it certainly could not be called courage) to move forward to that defining act. It wasn't the thought of my parents or what I owed them, for the memory of their faces was so indelibly blotted out by my memories of _her_ that I couldn't be sure where my loyalties lay or who exactly I was doing this for. One thing was sure: it wasn't what I wanted.

She was crying, too, when I left. I could hear the catch in her voice as she yelled at me, pleading and angry. I had to force my feet to keep moving, despite the way they felt as if I had been jinxed.

And later that night when I returned out of breath, it was _my_ voice that hitched, _my_ face that was stricken with the weight of all I had done. And all I had not done. She was waiting for me, of course - I hadn't expected her to leave – and the sight of her heartbroken yet hopeful as she enveloped me in her arms was almost more than I could bear.

'I didn't,' I managed to get out. 'I couldn't . . .' I whispered brokenly against her hair.

Somehow, incredibly, she was the one soothing _me_, running her hands down my back and murmuring endlessly, inaudibly until sobs stopped racking my body. Pressed as I was against her chest, it offered me no small comfort to feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, guiding my own back to a normal pace.

How could she call me heartless when my heart was with her?

* * *

**Another Note:** It's time to break out of my shell and try new things like (_dun dun dunnn_) actually posting a drabble a day. Today marks the first day I'll be doing that, and in a desperate effort to break my procrastinating streak I shall try to enforce some self-discipline by doing so. Wish me luck. (I'll need it).


	35. Light

**Prompt:** 35; Light

**Word Count:** 280

**Character:** Ginny Weasley

**A/N:** Heh. I love it when prompts are open to interpretation.

* * *

Draco a la carte 

-x-

'So I told him, of course, that Ogden's Light has the same alcohol content as regular Ogden's, but you'll never get him to –'

Ginny tuned out Hermione's rant on Ron's drinking habits to focus on the ceiling decor in their restaurant of choice for lunch today, The Jasmine Dragon. She was just about through counting paper lanterns and Hermione was just about through enumerating the reasons Firewhiskey was unhealthy when she saw _him_ walk through the door. And he wasn't alone.

As Ginny glared viciously at the blonde strumpet latched onto Draco's arm, she recounted the last conversation they'd had, at his flat, just as she was getting ready to leave in the morning. They had been dating for a while, but Draco was still insisting that they keep things casual and not put too many restrictions on a budding relationship. Ginny had correctly interpreted that as a simple paranoia of settling down, and had completely agreed with him. Why tie herself down to just one man, when she was at the prime of her life?

Now, though, as she watched the blonde girl (Merlin help them both if she turned out to be the Astoria who had written her name and Floo address in lipstick on Draco's white shirt) cuddle up to _her_ boyfriend in a secluded booth, she decided that a casual fling just wasn't good enough anymore. She was entirely unprepared for the haze of jealousy that threatened to make her walk over and claw the chit's eyes out with her bare hands, but the scheming Weasley had other tricks up her sleeve to make Draco realize that a 'light' relationship just wasn't going to work.

* * *

**End Note:** The Jasmine Dragon is a nod to Avatar, except this one isn't a tea shop run by a fire bending master. ^_^

And, lookie: day two and I'm still on track! :)


	36. Obvious

**Prompt:** 36; Obvious

**Word Count:** 307

**Character:** Draco Malfoy

**A/N:** The plot, she thickens.

* * *

The Sneaky, Red-Headed Elephant in the Room

-x-

Draco let his lips curve into a relaxed smirk as he soaked up the atmosphere of The Crooked Serpent, the nightclub he had chosen to unwind tonight. He was alone so far, but you never knew who might be show up to keep your company when you were the most sought after bachelor of your generation.

As if on cue, a redhead walked into the bar (and, Draco would reflect wryly, that most definitely was not the start to an entertaining joke) on the arm of a rather jaunty young wizard. The redhead Draco recognized immediately; the man, Draco was sure would be unrecognizable by the time he was through with him. Something inside of him coiled to strike as he watched Ginevra Weasley flirt openly (and charmingly, dammit!) with a bloke who was only too eager to reciprocate her advances.

The Firewhiskey began a slow burn from his mouth to his stomach as he reclined in the shadows of a secluded booth and watched them. Ginny certainly seemed to be having fun. As for the young man, well, Draco was sure the phrase 'calm before the storm' was invented for a reason.

It entered his head as he stared at her (and glared at him) that he had been the one to suggest the ridiculous idea of casual dating. At the time it had been the obvious answer to what was quickly escalating into a steady relationship, and Draco liked to nip such unwanted occurrences in the bud. What hadn't been obvious was the unadulterated venom that coursed through him now, making him want to eviscerate the man holding Ginny's arm with a few decisive strokes of his wand.

Oh, they'd have to have a talk regarding the finer aspects of their relationship, and neither of them was going anywhere until the details were crystal clear.

* * *

**End Notes:** I know, I know: Jasmine Dragon, Crooked Serpent – who am I trying to kid, right?

You. I'm trying to kid you.


	37. Archaic

**Prompt:** 37; Archaic

**Word Count:** 358

**Pairing:** Draco/Ginny

**A/N:** Woohoo, another stretched prompt!

Lyrics from _Possession_ by Sarah McLachlan. Lovely song.

* * *

Best Laid Plans 

-x-

_And I would hold you down,_

_Kiss you so hard_

_I'd take your breath away_

-x-

'Draco, stop!'

Ginny placed a restraining hand on her boyfriend's arm before he could stride over to Michael Corner and do Merlin-knows-what to the man. Wizard or not, he wasn't likely to be much of a match for Draco in this mood.

Draco shrugged her off and continued to approach him. Whether it was their heated yet quiet conversation or the look of icy calm that Draco always got when he was very, very pissed off, Ginny began to rethink her earlier idea of making Draco jealous. Maybe they should have just chatted instead. And then she saw a blonde walk up to Draco with an over-exaggerated sway to her hips and remorse evaporated in a haze of comeuppance.

She was about to walk over there and give the blonde tart a piece of her mind when Draco brushed her away irritably and half-dragged Michael to the alley outside the club. Not to be left behind, Ginny followed them, still wondering whether she should intervene before or after Draco kicked Michael's ass.

The choice was taken from her however, when she got outside to see an irate Draco standing over an unconscious Michael and sheer indignation kicked in.

'Of all the archaic, asinine – _what_ do you think you're doing?' she hissed at him, stepping over Michael's prone form to confront Draco.

'Me?' Draco retorted. 'You waltz in with this pillock attached to your arm doing his best octopus impersonation and expect me not to react?'

Ginny put her hands on her hips severely. 'Yes, I do! You said we could see other people, didn't you? You don't have a problem taking out other girls – I don't see why I can't go out with whoever I want,' she reminded him angrily.

Draco's eyes flashed with anger and he walked her backward until she was pressed against the cold alley wall. Putting his arms on either side of her, he leaned towards her until his face was millimetres away from her own.

'Then we need to rethink the exclusivity clause in our relationship,' he growled before claiming her lips.

Ginny relinquished without a struggle; her little plan had worked perfectly.

* * *

**End Notes:** Every self-respecting club has an alley.


	38. Home

**Prompt:** 37; Home

**Word Count:** 301

**Pairing:** Draco/Ginny

For everyone (aka Sarah) who asked for a sequel to 'Bed', here you go.

* * *

Home is Where the Heartless Is

-x-

_You swallowed everything, like distance._

_Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank!_

_It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss._

_The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse.  
_

-x-

'I'm sick of this!'

Draco looked up from his papers at Ginny's exclamation. She had slammed her hands on the table, over today's copy of the Daily Prophet that they continued to receive even though they were on the run. Ginny had protested that she wanted to know what was going on back home despite the risk it posed.

Draco rose from the chair and removed his glasses before turning to confront his irate wife. He couldn't pretend he hadn't seen this coming. She rounded on him with fire in her eyes and he waited for her to continue.

'I hate this - running and hiding like cowards,' she went on. 'People are _dying_, Draco. I can't just stay out of it – it's my _home_.' Her voice broke on the last word and Draco could see that she wanted to cry. She didn't, but some days he wondered if she would always be this strong and what he would do if she ever broke down. Pushing those thoughts aside he moved toward her, pulling her to his chest as he wrapped his arms around her slight frame. They'd lost so much weight these past months.

He rested his chin on top of her head as a dozen responses flitted across his mind. What should he do? Remind her that this had been her choice as much as his? Tell her there was no way they could be together if they went back now? That she would probably die and he would probably be responsible? Draco had always been a selfish git, and this was no time to start changing his spots.

'It's my home, too,' he murmured into her hair.

She tightened her fists against the back of shirt and whispered heartbreakingly against his shoulder.

'I just want to go back.'

* * *

**A/N:** Yeah, I'm putting these at the end now. The quote is from Pablo Neruda's _A Song of Despair_, not only because I like Pablo Neruda but also because his poems pretty much fit this entire 'verse. (I have different poems relating to each character. Shoot me now).

Also: You have no idea how much this particular prompt arrangement (37, 38, 39) bugs me. :|The 'Make Draco Jealous' arc thing resumes tomorrow.


	39. Fun and Games

**Prompt:** 39; Fun and Games

**Word Count:** 326

**Pairing:** Draco/Ginny

* * *

Until Someone Gets Jinxed 

-x-

Ginny stretched languorously beside Draco on the bed in his room at the Manor. She had just woken up from a delightful post-coital nap (they communicated best in a physical context) and a smile was blossoming on her lips before she rolled over and looked straight into Draco's accusing eyes.

"What?" she asked defensively, unsure of what had prompted the reaction.

He took his time answering and regarded her with a contemplative gaze as he rested his chin on one hand. He raised an eyebrow when Ginny adjusted the sheet self-consciously.

"Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?" he challenged her finally.

Ginny looked confused. "Figure what out?"

"I have to admit it was a clever plan, but you'll have to pay the consequences."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake Draco, _what_ are you on about?" Ginny said in exasperation.

"Corner – did you think I didn't know you were just using him to make me jealous?"

Ginny blushed, but looked Draco in the eyes. "What, are you telling me that blonde tart was just for show?"

"Daphne was just for fun," Draco replied and at Ginny's scowl, added, "She's a business acquaintance, who I happen to get along with. It's a purely platonic relationship."

Ginny made a sound of deep scepticism, but didn't argue with him as her mind was quite differently occupied.

"You mentioned consequences?" she said with an inquiring look.

"Ah, yes. The harshest of punishments – I should chain you to my bed for a week, or force you to perform unspeakable sexual favours."

"Sounds positively terrifying," Ginny commented with a glint in her eyes.

Draco paused, staring at a spot near her left breast.

"What now?" Ginny asked impatiently; she was rather eager to be 'punished'.

"I'm just wondering if Corner has ever seen that birthmark."

"No," Ginny reassured him. "But Harry has."

At the murderous light that suddenly entered Draco's eyes, Ginny wondered if maybe she should have quit while she was ahead.

* * *

**A/N:** Ginny and I are wondering the same thing at the end of this one. This continues from prompt 37.


	40. Clothes

**Prompt:** 40; Clothes 

**Word Count:** 386

**Pairing:** Blaise/Luna, with Daphne

**A/N: **The universe conspires to keep me from achieving my plans, I swear. Anyways, we're back on track, _for now_, and we'll see how long we can keep it that way.

Forgive me for the name; I was desperate to post this. :P

* * *

Trapped in the Closet

-x-

Daphne was hit in the face with a shirt the moment she stepped into Blaise's bedroom. As she removed the offending garment - charcoal silk - with a flawlessly manicured hand, her eyes roved the immense room for the perpetrator. She picked her way through a barrage of laundry and was soon greeted by the sight of Blaise's rather nicely sculpted rear. She moved forward to pinch him quickly, stepping back with an innocent expression when he whipped around and glared at her accusingly.

"This is hardly the time for sexual harassment, Daph," he scolded.

Daphne gave an elegant shrug and folded her arms as she surveyed the mess and the fact the he was clad only in boxers. "You mentioned an emergency?" she questioned.

Blaise ran a hand over the top of his head and expelled a frustrated breath. The action did lovely things to his abdominal muscles."Yeah," he admitted. "I've got a date."

"Stop the presses," Daphne interrupted dryly. "This is clearly a matter of national security."

Blaise scowled at her when she smirked.

"I don't know what to wear," he continued, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable.

Daphne's eyebrows disappeared into her stylish bangs.

"You _always _know what to wear, Blaise," she said. "Most of the time you give _me _fashion advice." She crossed to the bed and used the tip of her wand to push aside another silk shirt before perching daintily on the Egyptian cotton spread.

"Not this time I don't," he muttered, walking over to sit beside her.

"So, tell me: who's the lovely girl that's got your knickers in such a twist?" Daphne asked.

Blaise hesitated, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye and away again before answering.

"Luna Lovegood."

She held her tongue against a sarcastic remark, and there was a beat of silence before either of them spoke again.

"She's a publisher, right?" Daphne said when the moment passed. "So she'll probably prefer to dress down this once." Blaise shot her a grateful look as she rose from the bed.

Daphne was all business as she sorted through the melee, tamping down on the emotions that had coursed through when Blaise mentioned a date. With her biggest rival. There'd be time to sort through _those _later, but right now she needed to help her best friend.


End file.
